FW 1946: Spoils of War
by Wolseley37
Summary: Foyle & Sam reluctantly agree to pursue an MI-5 investigation at the request of a foreign official, but soon transform the mission into a personal quest that may save a man's life. Set late July or August of '46.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** FW 1946: Spoils of War

**Summary:** Foyle & Sam reluctantly agree to pursue an MI-5 investigation at the request of a foreign official, but soon transform the mission into a personal quest that may save a man's life.

**Rating:** K or General

**Disclaimer:** The characters in Foyle's War were created by Anthony Horowitz. No infringement is intended.

**Timeline:** _Eternity Ring_ - July 1946; _The Cage_ - August '46; _Sunflower_ - date unknown, but 1946

**A/N:** A straight Cold War-era case for Senior Intelligence Officer Christopher Foyle and his trusty assistant, Sam Wainwright.

To get started and find a hook for a story set in 1946, I asked myself, 'what were those two cities Churchill named in his famous Iron Curtain speech?' (March 5, 1946) One of them was Stettin. I knew nothing about it, so I started to research, and built this story around it.

The story is set in late July or August 1946. I have taken the liberty of including some real historical figures in London at that time, and other characters with names similar to real people of the era. I apologise in advance for any mistakes with the Polish language and any glaring historical errors.

Posted on Quietly Enigmatic Forum, August 19 - 27th, 2013

* * *

Chapter 1

Sam Wainwright carried her shopping into the kitchen to drop it on the table, then washed her hands at the basin as she considered how to prepare supper for herself and Adam, despite the late hour, given the unexpected bounty she had received today.

It had been another ordinary day in her extraordinary new job, working as a researcher and assistant and general dogsbody at the mysterious office on Curzon Street. Imagine, being mixed up with spies and secret agents and intelligence and counter-intelligence! At times it was exciting, at other times it was tedious, and most of the time she felt decidedly, morally, uncomfortable about the work. If she hadn't been married her father would have fetched her home without a doubt, despite her being nearly thirty. Of course, she couldn't actually tell him what she was doing, but she knew he wouldn't approve.

On this particular ordinary day, she and Mr. Foyle had successfully, and rather dramatically, concluded a case that had begun only yesterday under far less promising auspices.

* * *

She had been searching through a mountain of wartime field agents' files for references to the city and port of Szczecin, formerly Stettin, which had been inside the German border before the War, and under Nazi control until April 26th of last year. The Soviet Red Army had liberated the city, then had given administrative control to the returning German officials of the pre-war Weimar Republic, even appointing two German Communists as mayors. But that hadn't lasted long, and now the city was in the hands of the Polish Communists, backed by the Red Army. Everything had been in flux, and the port was a strategic plum for the power-seekers. Mr. Foyle wanted the names of any Allied agents who had been there in the final chaotic weeks of the war and its aftermath, when the tides of Nazi, German civilian, and Polish population groups had washed in and out of the city. Sam didn't know why he wanted the names, but she would find him as much information as she could.

By early afternoon she had worked her way through all the available files and had twenty-two names on her list, with notations of dates, activities and intelligence. The majority of these agents had only passed through, but six had actively worked within the city, from two months to two years, and one had maintained his cover identity for over three years. She left the remaining files stacked neatly on her desk, then gathered up her notes, and the files on those seven more likely agents. Sam walked down the corridor to Mr. Foyle's office, rapped on his door and entered.

"Sir, I have the information you requested, but it's been rather difficult. How is your Polish?"

Foyle lifted his eyes from the large-scale map and array of aerial photographs he was studying and looked across the desk at her,

"W- oh, about as good as yours, I'd say. Why?"

"Many of these agents are Polish, and, while I _can_ copy the letters to spell out the names, I don't think I can pronounce them."

"_Hm_. There should be someone here who can help us with that. But for now I only need to read them."

"Good." Sam moved around the desk, placed the stack of documents on his left hand side, and tilted her head to examine the map.

"Is this Stettin?" She asked, pronouncing it as an English word.

"This is _Shteteen_ - or, as it's now known, _Schtecheen_. It's an important shipping, smuggling and emigration port on the Baltic Sea. It was a German Naval and Army base, and it was the location of more than one hundred Nazi slave labour camps."

"Oh. Gosh." Sam frowned and shook her head in dismay, and then tried saying the name again,

"_Schtecheen_...That's not easy. These photographs show a lot of destruction."

"Yes, thanks to intelligence from the Polish Resistance. In '44 we were able to bomb the city's industries, factories and the port and render them nearly useless."

"And this agent we're looking for, what did he do there?"

"Well, we don't know exactly _who_ we're looking for, only that he was a member of the Polish Resistance, held a certain rank in the Home Army - the _AK_ - and that he had frequently provided intelligence to our side.

"Valentine has had a report that _someone_ has taken _something_ from Stettin, and, in all the confusion of last year, sometime in late summer managed to smuggle this item out by small boat from the port to Sweden, and then, it is believed, over here.

"This information, and the request to find the Resistance fighter, originated from someone connected to the..." Foyle picked up a typed sheet and read, "...'Polish Committee of National Liberation,' or _PKWN_, which in January 1945 became the... 'Provisional Government of the Republic of Poland,' or _RTRP_, but as of June 28th, '45, is now called the... 'Provisional Government of National Unity,' or _TRJN_. Essentially, it's all the Communist Party of Poland, controlled by the Soviets."

"But isn't there a Polish Government-in-exile here in London?"

"There is, yes. Since 1940."

"They helped us win the War. Won't _they_ be returning to Warsaw?"

"Doesn't look like it. The Soviets are in control of Poland now, and the Provisional Government is the one they have approved."

"Oh. I see. I think. And we're cooperating with the Provisional Government?"

"Apparently."

"Well, this isn't much to go on, is it, sir?"

"No. Valentine's report on the request mentioned the word, '_perła_,' _erm_... pronounced _perr-wa_ in Polish; it means 'pearl.'"

Sam continued to gaze at the map,

"'Pearl.' As in necklace? Stolen gems? - Oysters? It _is_ near the sea."

Foyle twitched his lips and looked sideways at her, but then admitted,

"We can't rule out anything. But '_perrwa_' could be a code name for something else entirely."

By four o'clock they had determined, in further discussion with Valentine, that the request had not come through official channels, yet it was a member of the _TRJN_, a man called Izaak Światło (_Shvee-atwoh_) who had made the request to the Foreign Office to track down the agent. He claimed that in Stettin the item in question had been placed in his hands for safekeeping by an Officer of the _AK_ who had fled to France, but hoped to return to Poland when legitimate political order was established. Światło wished to preserve his honour by returning the item to him when he did arrive.

"That's taking quite a risk, isn't it? Why would a Resistance fighter of the _AK_ approach a Communist? After the details of the Katyn Massacre were revealed in '43? And the events in Pruszków in February last year? Those were a clear signal of what could be expected from the new regime in his homeland."

"Yes, Foyle, we find that odd, too."

"What happened there, sir?" Sam asked.

Valentine answered,

"Sixteen leaders of the Polish Underground State, including the Government Delegate, who was essentially the Prime Minister-in-exile, were invited by Soviet General Ivan Serov to conference talks on joining the Provisional Government. They were given a warrant for safety, yet when they arrived at the house in Pruszków, they were arrested by the _NKVD_ and transported to Moscow where they were interrogated, tortured, and put on trial. They have all been imprisoned and some undoubtedly will be executed, if not murdered."

"Then they can't be trusted, can they." Sam declared.

Foyle made a grim face and asked, "The agent who has allegedly brought this object to England, he's not the _same man_ who entrusted it to Światło?"

"No."

"But he was also a member of the Resistance?"

"The man we're looking for was with the _AK_ during the war, but when it was officially disbanded in January of '45, he joined the anti-Communist _Delegatura_, the underground Armed Forces led by Colonel Wladyslaw Anders, from its inception in May - until it, too, was disbanded, in early August of '45."

"And what about _WiN_? Has this man been active in the new underground group?" Foyle asked.

Valentine raised his eyebrows in surprise,

"You _are_ up to date, Foyle. _WiN_, or 'Freedom and Sovereignty' has been less forthcoming with information, understandably. We don't actually know. He may have made contact with _WiN_, or he may have..." Valentine shrugged and lifted a hand, "...given up the fight. Hence this theft and his escape through Stettin."

Foyle wasn't having it,

"Well, where did he get his false documents to enter Sweden - or Britain? As a former _AK_ soldier, _WiN_ would have helped him with that."

"We really don't know."

"If he _is_ here, why hasn't he been helped to find a safe house? He must have contacts among the Polish _émigrés_ - someone who would direct him to us."

"The state of our safe houses is, _er._.. well, you know all about that." Valentine said lightly, with a small embarrassed laugh.

"What is the property he's _allegedly_ taken?"

"They didn't say. They simply want him located and questioned. Arrested, if possible."

Foyle frowned at the change from singular to plural pronoun.

"_They_ didn't say. Well, _we_ don't have the power of arrest, Arthur, so he'd be held _where_?"

Sam noted his words were becoming rather clipped.

"We haven't _found_ him yet, Foyle. We'll work that out when the time comes."

"What have _they_ offered to the Foreign Office, Arthur, in exchange for our finding this man?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Foyle shut his eyes briefly, and pressed on,

"And this agent's name? You obviously have _some idea_ of who he is, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste any more of our time, Arthur."

Valentine tried to disguise his discomfort with an air of nonchalance,

"We don't _know_ his name, Foyle. We only have a _nom de guerre_, supplied by Światło, but we have been able to determine his movements consistently as far back as '43. He is known as_ Wilk_."

Foyle pronounced the name in Polish, "_Veelk_. 'Wolf?'"

"Yes, that's it."

"Arthur, when were you planning to give me the file on _Wilk_?"

"Oh, _er_, my mistake. Yes, we do have a file on him. I'll have it sent -."

Foyle was on his feet, heading for the door. He paused to growl,

"Get it now, please, Arthur."

"Oh, see here, Foyle -." He protested mildly.

"Give it to Sam." He walked out, and Sam heard him mutter an oath under his breath.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Sam rejoined him in his office, Foyle was pacing across the carpet from the window to the hearth.

"Here it is, sir."

"Good. Thank-you, Sam." He opened the file immediately where he stood, and began scanning the documents and reports quickly, a scowl darkening his features.

"Is anything wrong, sir?"

He continued studying the file, but answered with some heat,

"Well, the man is clearly a patriot, an ally, has risked his life in the service of his country - _and ours_; and we're being asked by the new occupiers of his homeland to track him down? You can be sure we're not the only ones looking for him."

"I see what you mean. There is some urgency, isn't there?"

"I'd say so." Foyle carried the open file to his desk,

"Sam, I know it's late, but we'll need additional help with this. Can you ask Charlotte to step in?"

"Charlotte? Oh, well, yes, sir." Sam went to the research department with a worried frown creasing her brow. The two women returned and stood before Mr. Foyle's desk expectantly.

"Thanks, _er_, sit down, please."

He began, "Look, I think we have an urgent situation, arising from this request from the Polish _TRJN_. We need to find this Resistance fighter, code name _Wilk_, before anyone else does. I think we can be confident in assuming the _NKVD_ are after him, and it's quite possible the _UB_ - the new Polish Communist secret police - are here in London as well."

"How can I help, sir?" Charlotte asked without hesitation.

"We need to identify _Wilk_. He could very well be one of the agents we know, who either passed through Stettin or was operating there. This will take time, but if we can match his movements to our information on the activities of another known agent, that could be our lead. Sam has the files on twenty-two operatives who, at some point, worked in Stettin; we'll need all those files, Sam."

"Sir." She rose to fetch the stack from her desk, but he held up a hand.

"Wait." Foyle glanced at his watch, "It's nearly half past five. Sam, I hate to ask, but would you be willing to telephone Adam and tell him I need you to stay, that you'll be quite late?"

"Of course, sir."

"And Charlotte? Do you need to call someone, or make arrangements?"

"Just my Mum and Dad, sir. They'll understand."

"Thank-you."

They worked together in Foyle's office, having each read _Wilk's_ file and discussed the dates and the type of work he had done during and at the end of the war. Charlotte had brought in a rolling chalkboard and noted down what they agreed were the important facts. Then they divided up the twenty-two dossiers and started to compare the movements and missions of the known agents.

A half-hour in, Sam looked over at Foyle with a puzzled expression,

"Sir, why has Światło waited nearly a year before looking for this man? Or, at least, before requesting our help?"

Foyle stroked his temple thoughtfully, "That's a very good question. Let's keep it in mind."

The offices around them and the entire floor gradually emptied of staff, until the whole building became silent. By eight o'clock, they had eliminated twelve resistance fighters who had primarily operated in the eastern regions of Poland and did not correspond with _Wilk's_ movements. That left ten potential matches, but now they were all three showing signs of fatigue.

Sam looked up and coughed to disguise the sound of her stomach growling, then offered,

"Sir, shall I see if there's anything in the kitchen? At least a pot of tea?"

Foyle eventually raised his head and answered distractedly, "_Er_..., yes, do."

But Charlotte spoke up,

"There's not likely to be much, Sam. I'll send out for sandwiches, if that suits? We often do that when there's a cri-, _er_, I mean, when we're working late."

Sam and Charlotte went to make tea and order food, respectively. Foyle, now in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, continued to read, until he heard voices approaching in the hall. He closed the file, scrubbing his hands over his face, stood and stretched his back, then walked out his office door.

Sam carried a tray of tea things, and Charlotte led an older man with a basket of provisions past the desks in the research department office. They were heading into a meeting room equipped with a larger table and a dozen chairs. Foyle watched them go in, chatting brightly at the prospect of a meal, then called to Charlotte for a word in the hall. He spoke quietly, with a frown of concern,

"Is this standard procedure, Charlotte? Having the delivery man come up to the offices?"

"Oh, it's all right, sir, Mr. Borkowski owns the tea shop just down the street from my parents' house. I've known him all my life, you see."

"Ah. Borkowski? Is he Polish?"

"I suppose so. Yes. But his family have been here since before the Great War. His father knew my grandfather."

"Let's have a word with him, shall we?"

Foyle had Charlotte introduce him to the man, who was around sixty, and was, indeed, of Polish origins. As they sat together sharing the tea and the surprisingly well-filled basket, Foyle learned that Tomasz Borkowski had fought for Britain in the Great War, and that his family had been part of the wave of emigration begun in the 1870s when Poland had been absorbed into the German Empire until 1918. Since arriving they had lived as Britons, while holding on to their language and cultural traditions within the Polish community.

Eventually Foyle decided that he could trust the man and asked for Borkowski's help in introducing him to leaders in the community who might be aware of the... unorthodox... arrival of some Poles from the continent. They discussed the social and political turmoil plaguing his homeland, of which he and all his friends were well aware, and how that danger was following certain Poles even as they escaped to other lands.

The two men continued their conversation in private as they walked together down to the front entrance, and Foyle mentioned the name of an acquaintance of his that he felt might be of assistance to Borkowski in smoothing the way in his inquiries.

"There are some 35,000 Poles in London alone, Mr. Foyle, and more arriving every day, but we will do what we can to help you find this man. I think we have the same interests at heart."

They agreed to meet the next morning after Borkowski had arranged some appointments with his contacts.

Foyle was prepared to get back to work, but as it was now well after nine o'clock, he assured the two young women they could leave, however both declined. They continued to read through the dossiers, and Charlotte was the first to have eliminated all of hers. Foyle had one file remaining, but before he got to it, Sam began to read out some dates, locations and events with rising excitement.

"Sir! I think I've got him. Listen to this:

"August 1943, Wyszków. Home Army attack on nine German border guard stations.

"September through December '43, Lubelski Province. Sabotage of railway lines and train cars, destroyed German supplies. Various intelligence relayed to SOE via _AK_ Courier."

As Sam read out the information, Foyle and Charlotte rose from their desks, Charlotte going to the chalkboard, Foyle to look over Sam's shoulder. They listened to the details of the agent's work over the past three years, and watched as Charlotte put checkmarks next to the dates for each of _Wilk's_ corresponding movements. Foyle quietly added the proper Polish pronunciation for the locations,

"February '44, Lublin (_Loob-leen_). Sabotage of rail lines and rolling stock. Intelligence reports sent via _AK_ Courier.

"March '44. Near Krasnik. (_Kraszhneek_). Joined group of 30 local partisans in liberating a convoy of labour camp prisoners.

"April '44, Krasnik. Intelligence on joint Red Army & _AK_ defeat of German troops. Subsequent intelligence from partisans near Polesie (_Polay-sha_) of Soviet capture of _AK_ soldiers.

"May and June '44, Poniatowa (_Ponya-tovah_). With _AK_ forces liberated the town from German occupation, in advance of Red Army. Reported that village is virtually deserted, and remaining German civilians showed site of trench where 15,000 Jewish slave factory workers were executed on Nov. 4, 1943, and covered over.

"July '44, Krasnik. Witnessed Red Army takeover of former Nazi labour camp for incarceration of partisans and _AK_ soldiers. Intelligence passed on to SOE.

"August '44, Lublin. Located members of _AK_ units disarmed, disbanded and dispersed by Red Army. Attempted to join partisans supporting Warsaw uprising, but unable to cross Vistula, prevented by Red Army encampments. No further intelligence until -."

"February '45, Radom (_Rrahdom_). Witnessed Red Army executions of Polish soldiers who fought with them against Nazi forces. Liberated thirteen _AK_ POWs from Soviet guards on march to prison."

Charlotte skipped over two entries on the board as Sam did not have them in her file.

"June '45. Szczecin. Intelligence on movements of Red Army units and expulsion of civilian groups.

"Also in June '45, 'met with local members of the _PSL_.' Sir?"

Foyle explained, "The 'Polish People's Party,' a Socialist group. They are part of the coalition making up the Provisional Government."

Sam nodded and continued,

"July '45. Wyrzysk (_Vih-zhisk_). With _WiN_ unit, captured _NKVD_ prison and freed 43 political prisoners. Shot 2 _UB_ agents and 2 Red Army soldiers."

"August '45. Szczecin. 'Intelligence on Soviet arrests of Polish Socialists.' That's the last entry."

Sam looked up expectantly at her two colleagues.

"It's a match, isn't it, sir!" Charlotte exclaimed, relieved and happy.

"Well done, Sam, Charlotte. Thank-you, both." Foyle gave them a smile of gratitude and pride, before asking,

"And what is the man's name?"

"It's - _er_ - oh. Perhaps you can read it, sir?" She turned the file around towards him.

"Stanislaw Franczak - _Staneeslav Franchuck_." he pronounced carefully.

"...Born in Jastków (_Yastkof_). That's not far from Lublin. Attended University of Kraków, until '39. Former Instructor in Związek Harcerstwa Polskiego (_Zvee-alzek Har-terstva Polskay-go_) - that's the Scout Movement. Active in Armia Krajowa (_Arrm-ee-a Kry-ova_) - the _AK_, since 1943. Achieved rank of Porucznik (_Porooge-nick_), - that's Lieutenant, serving with 3rd and 27th Piechota (_Pyay-hota_), - Infantry..."

Sam and Charlotte exchanged a glance,

"_Do_ you speak Polish, sir?" Sam asked.

He answered distractedly as he examined the papers,

"...Only the little I picked up in the last War."

Glancing up at the chalkboard, he noted,

"There are two entries for _Wilk_ that do not appear in Franczak's file - February '45, At Otwock (_Otvotsk_): 'In contact with friends of Resistance member Jolanta.' I'll look into that. And March '45, Ruchocice (_Rookaw-chee-chay_), without notation. Charlotte, I understand there are separate, detailed reports of the intelligence received from _AK_ couriers, filed by date. In the morning - not now, it's late - could you pull those reports covering Franczak's work in Lublin and Krasnik?"

"Yes, Mr. Foyle."

He carried the file to his desk, slipped it and Sam's handwritten notes inside one of the other agent's files, picked up _Wilk's_ and slipped that, along with the map and photographs, into another file, then placed all four into a briefcase. While he did this, he asked Sam and Charlotte to hide the other agents' files in their desks in the research department, and to erase - and wash - the chalkboard. Foyle unrolled his shirt-cuffs to put his jacket on, then offered in a friendly tone,

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'd like to get out of here. I'll drive you both home." He gave them a quick, small smile.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

In the morning, Foyle was waiting for Sam in the entrance hall of Leconfield House, briefcase in hand.

"Good morning! Ready to start?" He asked, gesturing her out the door she'd just come in.

"_Er_, yes. Where are we going?"

"Tell you in the car. I'll drive."

She followed him down the street, a little flustered. Once underway, he explained,

"_I've_ been busy. It's remarkable what you can accomplish in that office when there's no-one around to interfere. I've also met with Charlotte's friend again. We have several appointments, arranged for us by Mr. Borkowski. He's rather more well-connected than Charlotte may realize. Our first meeting is with the Polish Ambassador."

"Oh, gosh. I'd have worn a different dress if I'd known."

"Well, don't worry, we're not going to the Embassy."

"No?"

"No. The Ambassador has been evicted from Portland Place to make way for the Polish Communists. The entire Government-in-exile is working out of the President's private house."

"I don't understand it, sir. Poland was one of our greatest allies in the War. Why are we abandoning her now?"

"Good question. Neither Churchill nor the Labour Party seem to have the will to stand up to Stalin. But... a fair outcome for Poland may well have meant prolonging the war several more years, in a bitter fight against the Soviets."

"It might have been best if we had."

"Perhaps. Here we are."

Number 43 Eaton Square, Belgravia, was a busy place. The semi-detached five-storey house had seven reception rooms, and seven bedrooms, and even some of those were now serving as government Ministry Offices. Men and women in military uniform and civilian dress strode purposefully between the various rooms and up and down the staircase.

Foyle and Sam were shown into a well-appointed, small sitting room and were soon joined by a distinguished-looking woman with greying hair, who spoke in moderately-accented English.

"Mr. Foyle? How do you do? I am Olga Strasburger. My husband will join us shortly."

Sam looked on as Foyle took her proffered hand and bowed over it in a surprisingly courtly manner,

"_Pani_ Strasburger. _To zaszczyt cię poznać_. (It is an honour to meet you.) May I introduce my colleague, Mrs. Wainwright."

"You are very welcome, both." She pressed her hands together, a gracious hostess finding herself in difficulties, "We are rather 'at sixes and sevens' at the moment. President Raczkiewicz has just received from home the published results of the recent People's Referendum. The news is not quite what we expected."

Foyle was sympathetic,

"Ah, the 'Three Times Yes' Referendum? I understand the whole process was closely overseen by Soviet officials."

"'Overseen' - and orchestrated, it now appears. Our Delegate in the country, Mr. Korbonski, has reported wide-spread threats, shootings, and the stealing or stuffing of ballot boxes. The Prime Minister, Mr. Arciszewski, is here with the President and my husband, and they have been talking by telephone with Lord Cavendish-Bentinck, your Ambassador to the Communists, urging a formal British protest of the interference."

"Perhaps this is not a convenient time to disturb your husband, Mrs. Strasburger?"

"Mr. Foyle, if we can work together to assist even one hero of _Armia Krajowa_, we will make time."

The Ambassador's wife then directed their attention to the fine landscapes and portraits adorning the walls, and Sam proved remarkably well-aquainted with some of them, owing, Foyle presumed, to the influence of both her father and her previous employer, the late Sir Leonard Spencer-Jones. She kept up a creditable conversation until they were joined by Henryk Strasburger, a dapper, academic-looking man with a keen-eyed expression. He drew Foyle aside, took his hand in a firm grip and kept hold of his forearm as he spoke,

"Mr. Foyle, I apologise for the delay. Tomasz Borkowski apprised me of your request, and we have made some inquiries of our Armed Forces records office. I believe it is to an address in Earl's Court that I may direct you. Please understand that these inquiries have been conducted via courier; we do not use the telephone in such cases."

Foyle nodded his comprehension, and the Ambassador released his hand and stepped back to regard his visitor appraisingly,

"I am glad to meet the man who is able to move an unmovable mountain." He smiled and the women turned, curious to hear their exchange,

"General Haller is firmly entrenched in his retirement from our _émigré_ and exile tribulations, yet at the mention of _your name_, Mr. Foyle, he willingly walks into the very heart of our political beehive, to endorse your cause. I take it you are old comrades-in-arms from the Great War."

Foyle inclined his head modestly,

"...I was fortunate to render him a small service when he commanded the 1st Rifle Regiment of the 'Blue Army' at _Raon-L'etape_, on the Western Front."

"Ah, _Błękitna Armia_!" Strasburger turned to his wife, nodding as though their question had been answered. "With_ Brigadier_ Haller, as he was then, in France!"

Mr. Strasburger's eyes flashed with remembered pride,

"The 'Blue Army,' in their borrowed French uniforms, went on to defeat the Bolsheviks in our War of 1920, and secure for Polska our Second Republic. Perhaps, Mr. Foyle, without your 'small service' to the General, he would not have been there to lead those men to victory on our Eastern Front?"

When Foyle merely made a considering expression, the Ambassador obligingly changed the subject,

"But that is history, and today we have another long struggle before us. While we, here in exile, try to rally our former Allies to join us in defending Mother Poland once again from the Soviets, your government offers us... the 'Polish Resettlement Corps.'"

Foyle bowed his head briefly, then took the man's hand again, saying solemnly,

"'_Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła_.' ('Poland has not yet perished.') There are many here in England, Mr. Ambassador, who would willingly help."

Sam noticed a small motion beside her as Mrs. Strasburger whisked a tear from her eye.

* * *

Back in the car, Sam was full of curiosity,

"Sir, it seems you picked up rather a lot of Polish in the last War. How did that happen?"

Foyle gave a tight smile of reluctance, then reconsidered, and answered,

"...To begin with, _er_... a few of us were pinned down in a foxhole under heavy German artillery fire. Couple of the chaps were Poles, serving in the 'Blue Army.' To pass the time, I got them to teach me the old Polish National Anthem. It's a very long anthem."

Sam smiled until he added, nearly under his breath, while negotiating a right turn,

"...It's remarkable what the brain can accomplish while..._ utterly terrified_."

She bit her lower lip, but pressed further,

"And this General Haller? How did you meet him?"

"Well, on our next leave, these same chaps -."

"The ones you were stuck in the foxhole with?"

"Yes. _Er_, a mob of us were at a café. There was a great deal of wine. The Brigadier happened to come in - Józef Haller de Hallenburg, a very impressive figure on the field, more imposing in a pub. The chaps pushed me forward and insisted that the _Anglik_ show him what I had learned."

"And -?"

Foyle tried to suppress a crooked smile,

"...I stood to attention - as best I could, ...and sang the entire Polish Anthem. The Brigadier joined in, all his men joined in, and we were brothers-in-arms from then on."

Sam, imagining the scene, turned to him with a delighted grin, then she saw that Foyle's expression had sobered, remembering other, later events from the War.

"But that's not the ...small service... you mentioned?"

"...No." he said quietly.

By then they had arrived at their next appointment, on Devonia Road in Islington, and Sam did not know who they might meet next. She was rather surprised when Foyle indicated they were to enter a large church, which, he informed her, was the home of the Polish Catholic Mission.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

In talking with Monsignor Staniszewski of the 'Church in Devonia,' as _Our Lady of Czestochowa and St. Casimir_ was popularly known, Foyle learned that Franczak had indeed visited with him in the autumn of last year. And he learned from Mrs. Pawliszak, the matron of the_ Polish Soldiers House_ next door, that, according to her records, Franczak had stayed there briefly and then had moved on to join the diaspora in London.

Foyle explained to them his wish to find an intermediary to make initial contact with Franczak on his behalf, as he did not want to cause alarm or undue anxiety for the man. When Foyle showed the address in Earl's Court, given to him by the Ambassador, the Monsignor referred him to Fr. Borynski, the priest who conducted the Polish services at the Brompton Oratory in Kensington, which served the spiritual needs of many of West London's Polish Catholic community. Then he asked,

'Why are you taking such trouble to find this man, Mr. Foyle?"

Foyle tilted his head and answered gravely,

"He... is a loyal soldier, ...and an ally, a valuable ally of Britain, and it appears his enemy still pursues him, _Prałat_. If Britain won't take up the fight, I see it as our duty, _at least_, to ensure his safety, and the safety of all Poles in Britain, until this new- ." Foyle corrected himself, "- old - enemy can be expelled from his homeland."

"_Bóg daje nam siłę_ (God gives us strength), Mr. Foyle."

* * *

Outside on the street, Sam took in a deep breath and remarked,

"_Hm_, something smells good." She made a show of looking at her watch,

"Where to now, sir?"

Reaching to open the car door for her, Foyle smiled at her unsubtle hint that it was lunchtime, but before he could reply, Mrs. Pawliszak followed after them through the Church doors.

"Oh, Mr. Foyle, Mrs. Wainwright, if you have time, we would be pleased to have you dine with us in our _kantyna_. It is simple fare, but plenty, and as authentic _Polskie gotowanie_ as we can manage with the Rationing - and...a little help from friends. Do please join us."

Sam was thrilled at the offer, but looked to Foyle for his agreement first.

"_To jest bardzo hojny_ (That is very generous). Thank-you, we will."

* * *

Having thanked the Matron again and bid farewell to the soldiers in the _kantyna_, Sam and Foyle returned to the car and set out for Earl's Court to try their luck at finding Father Borynski. They had been given his home address, which was not connected to the Church itself, so they inquired there first.

A suspicious housekeeper, wearing a floral-patterned headscarf and apron, who looked to be in her fifties, and who spoke no English, eventually was convinced to divulge that the Father would be at the Chapel by half-past two o'clock.

Sam could only stand back and try to look trustworthy, smiling pleasantly at the woman as Foyle was drawn into a longer discussion, of which she could only make out a few words, such as _Masa_ (Mass), _Zakrystia_ (Sacristy), and then, oddly, _Detektyw_ (Detective), _policja_ (police) and _Rosyjski_ (Russian). At the last word Foyle's eyes narrowed and he asked several very direct questions of the woman. When their conversation was wrapping up, she added some remark that amused Foyle, and he answered with a quip that made her laugh.

Back in the car, feeling decidedly left out, Sam pulled at some invisible lint on her cardigan sleeve and asked in an airy tone,

"What was the joke, sir?"

Foyle kept his eyes on the road,

"Oh, _er_, Mrs. Milewska said that my Polish was passable, but that my accent was like a farm boy's."

Still avoiding looking at her, he explained,

"...I told her I'd learnt it from a farm girl."

Innocent that she was, at least when in his company, it took some moments before his meaning dawned on her. Sam raised her eyebrows and turned away to stare out her side window.

After a suitable pause, Foyle asked her,

"Were you able to catch anything pertinent from that conversation?"

"Well, I wondered why she mentioned 'police,' 'detective' and 'Russian.' I did catch those words, sir."

"Well done. Apparently someone else has inquired after Father Borynski. A man claiming to be a detective with the Metropolitan Police came to the door this morning. Mrs. Milewska is something of an expert on languages; in fact she was a Professor of Philology at the University of Kraków, so she recognized a trace of a Moscow accent in his Polish. ...She speaks seven languages, she told me, including English, but finds she learns more from her neighbours - English, Polish and others - if she doesn't let on."

"She's a Professor? But she's working as a housekeeper!"

"Yes. Like many Poles here, she's finding it difficult to have her professional credentials recognised."

"That's a shame! What a waste of - of - brains, and... knowledge! Not only for the Poles, but for Britain."

"I agree."

Then Sam suggested,

"She could be very useful to us at the office."

Foyle nodded.

Some streets later, Sam asked,

"What do you make of this Russian man inquiring after Father Borynski, sir?"

"...Don't make anything of it, yet, but I think it's worth looking into."

"_NKVD_?"

"...Or _UB_."

"Not C.I.D.?"

"His warrant card had a spelling mistake."

"Q.E.D." Sam concluded, straight-faced, then grinned at him. Foyle smiled.

* * *

Brompton Oratory Chapel had had a large turnout for afternoon Mass. The Polish service was just getting out, and Fr. Borynski was soon able to receive them in the sacristy, delaying his first appointment with a parishioner. The Father, a direct, vivacious and athletic figure, had been a Chaplin with the underground Polish Second Corps, and had arrived in England with his unit last April. He had not yet been discharged, but was helping out where he could in London's growing Polish _Gmina_.

"Stanislaw Franczak, yes, I know him and his family. He is living with his sister and her husband, and another woman. We all crowd together here, and share what we have. It is better than these resettlement camps being set up - a little better. As for Soviet agents... the _UB_... slinking through the streets of London, Mr. Foyle? There are so many rumours, so much frightened talk, I don't like to encourage it..."

"I've... encountered a number of them. They_ are_ here, Father."

That remark gave the priest pause,

"Very well. I will visit him, I will give him your message, and arrange this meeting for you. I will accompany you, if you feel it is necessary."

"Thank-you, Father."

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Foyle was to check back with the assistant priest in two hours. They drove north intending to walk in Hyde Park for some much-needed exercise. Foyle didn't let on, but he noticed a car start up and follow theirs up Exhibition Road. He decided to continue on up West Carriage Drive, and, as feared, the car followed. He parked on the side of the road. When it passed them and parked a little distance away, he made a plan.

Walking west into Kensington Gardens, Foyle hurried Sam along with a hand on the back of her upper arm and spoke in a low voice,

"We're being followed. From the description given by Mrs. Milewska, it seems to be the same man. I'd think he wants us to lead him to Fransczak, but can't be sure. In any case, we'd best lose him; here's what we're going to do."

They stopped to admire the Albert Memorial, Foyle watching for the Russian to enter the park, then they strolled north together. Halfway along Lancaster Walk, he sat down on a bench, while Sam continued. Foyle watched after her, as did the Soviet agent sauntering to catch up to them on the other side of the trees.

Sam circled to the far side of the 'Physical Energy' statue and stooped towards the plinth. She straightened a moment later, tucking a paper inside her cardigan. She returned and joined Foyle on the bench, furtively slipping him the paper. He pretended to read it, turned it over and wrote a message on the reverse, then passed it back. As Sam walked away towards the statue again, Foyle headed for the car, drove north out of Victoria Gate, east along Bayswater Road, then turned left to park on Albion Street.

He entered Hyde Park through Stanhope Gate, and forced himself to walk east - farther away from Sam - past an empty platform where one of the _ack-ack_ guns had stood, and on towards Speakers Corner. His sense of anxiety growing with every minute that passed, Foyle strode along the path southwards, eyes scanning west over the still bomb-scarred grounds, searching for her trim figure in grey skirt and blue-patterned cardigan, amongst the crowds of civilians - families, mothers with prams and toddlers, couples holding hands, demobbed men in pairs or groups - all enjoying an afternoon in the sunshine.

At last, with great relief, he spotted Sam hurrying across the lawns from the south, and they met at the circle where a dozen footpaths converged. She was a little out of breath.

"Everything all right?" He asked, briefly laying a hand on her shoulder in concern.

"Yes." She said between breaths, "He was a little undecided, whether to follow you or fetch the secret message, but in the end, couldn't resist the note."

Foyle said dryly,

"They do like that sort of thing." Then he met her eyes and asked,

"Were you worried, Sam?"

"Well, only that he might catch me up after reading it. But I gave him the slip, by going through the Tea Pavillion."

"Clever. Did you notice which way he went?"

"Turned his car around and drove south, straight through the intersection."

"Back to the Oratory perhaps."

She nodded grimly, "What now, sir?"

Foyle checked his watch.

"We still have an hour to wait, and this Soviet agent probably won't return. He's not our objective today, anyway - at least, not yet." His eyes swept over the roadway, gardens and lawns once more before settling on Sam again. "You deserve a cup of tea."

They found a tea shop across from the Park and chose a table well away from the windows.

"That was good work, Sam. Thank-you."

She blushed over her teacup and smiled modestly, then asked,

"What did you write on the note, sir? I didn't have a chance to read it."

"Well, the first thing that came to mind was, _er_, a well-known slogan of Polish Resistance groups for the past hundred years._ 'Za naszą i waszą wolność,'_ which is, 'For our freedom and yours.'"

"That might be rather provocative."

"Could be. ...Don't know what he'll make of your shopping list. Very, _er_... cryptic. What's 'AICF on Tuesday'?"

"Oh." She laughed, "It stands for 'anything I can find.'"

"Well... it also stands for 'Airborne Interception Conversion Flight.'"

"Does it? That'll keep him guessing."

"And... 'BSA on Wednesday'?"

"'Bloody Spam Again.'"

"Not... Birmingham Small Arms?"

"No!" she shook her head.

"And you wrote, _er_, 'Oslo on Thursday'?" He squinted an eye at her.

"'The Oslo Meal' - you know: whole wheat bread, margarine, cabbage salad, bit of cheese, veg if you have any. Everything's off-ration. A Norwegian doctor suggested it for school children."

Foyle nodded once, then remarked,

"That'll send him straight back to headquarters, I should think."

He added _sotto voce_, "Nearly did me."

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Having determined as best they could that the Soviet agent was not in the neighbourhood of the Oratory, they met with the assistant priest. Foyle and Sam were to rendezvous with Father Borynski at the address the Ambassador had given for Franczak. They drove a long circuitous route before approaching their objective, and, certain they were not followed, parked on an adjoining road and walked to the door.

It was an ordinary terraced house on a working class street, and the residents kept the front room in presentable and very welcoming order for guests. There were framed religious prints and a crucifix on the walls, an icon with a candle before it on the mantlepiece, and second-hand but spotlessly clean furniture. An older couple, Franczak's sister, Celina, and her husband, Jozef Szelest, were introduced, as well as another woman, Danuta Bredel. All were dressed in what Sam would call their 'Sunday best.' The lady of the house brought out a fine tea service and handed a cup to each person.

Fr. Borynski went into the kitchen to speak with Stanislaw, and then brought him through to meet the two visitors. Franczak was of medium height, dark-haired, with a weathered complexion, and clearly powerfully built, under his suit and tie.

Despite Foyle cordially and respectfully shaking hands with the man, an air of fear and distrust was palpable, from all the residents. No one touched their tea, except Sam.

As they took their seats, Foyle saw with some dismay that, on the low table centred between the chairs and sofa, the family had laid out all their identification documents and official papers to be inspected. He avoided looking at them for now.

Foyle allowed Fr. Borynski to translate for him; he had not let the priest know that he could speak the language. As Mrs. Milewska had said, it was sometimes an advantage amongst strangers.

Through Fr. Borynski, Foyle thanked the family for allowing him into their home. He thanked Mr. Franczak for agreeing to meet him, and also expressed his thanks and admiration for the work he did to help defeat the Nazis. Foyle mentioned his own son who flew with many Polish pilots in the RAF, and his brother-in-law who served with brave Polish sailors in the Royal Navy.

Sam, sitting in the background in charge of Foyle's briefcase, and instructed to observe the family, was surprised by his candid talk.

Franczak nodded after the priest's translation, then asked very directly,

"What did you do in the war, Mr. Foyle?"

"I was a policeman on the Home Front, on the south coast, so I was only indirectly involved. I did arrest several Nazi spies, who later were either executed or took their own lives."

Franczak listened carefully, then again spoke to the point,

"You _were_ a policeman. What are you now?"

"I am an Intelligence Officer, working in Domestic Counter-espionage."

"A spy-catcher, Mr. Foyle? With MI-5?"

"Yes. And I want you to know exactly what has brought me here to speak with you."

Foyle explained the request received by the Foreign Office from an official of the New Provisional Government in Warsaw, who has accused him of theft.

"Theft? What is this man's name? Where does he live?"

"His name is Izaak Światło. He was in Szczecin, at the time. This was in August of 1945."

All the family looked at each other blankly. Franczak shook his head,

"I don't know this name, Mr. Foyle. And what is it that I am to have taken from him?"

"Well, not from _him_ - but something... that belonged to another man, that he was entrusted to keep, until that man could return for it."

"Who was this other man?" He asked quickly.

Foyle could see a slight shift in Franczak's demeanor, and he said in a light, friendly tone,

"I don't know his name. I thought perhaps - you - would."

Franczak's sister and her husband still looked mystified, but the other woman, Danuta Bredel, went very still, her eyes wide and fixed on Stanislaw.

Father Borynski translated his reply,

"Mr. Foyle, I have taken nothing from this Izaak Światło. Why does he not say what was taken? Why does he not name the other man?"

"I wondered that myself, Mr. Franczak. Clearly this man is very interested in _finding you_, but doesn't wish to bring to light his own past actions, either here in London, or amongst his Communist comrades. It is possible that he has sent an agent here to London, and that I was to be used to lead that agent to you." The family all showed signs of alarm.

"...But I assure you I was not followed. If I had been, I would not have kept our appointment." He paused to wait for his words to be translated and understood, then continued.

"It is also possible that, as a Communist, Światło would expect our Secret Service to be as brutally indifferent to a man's life as theirs seems to be. I can only speak for myself, but I assure you... _I_ am not." He waited again for the translation, for the family to understand his meaning, then asked,

"Were you in Szczecin last August?"

"Yes. I and hundreds of other Poles desperate to leave the country. When the Soviets and the local Communists began to take over, it was clear there would be no coalition. They were already arresting, imprisoning or murdering members of every other political party who dared to meet with them."

"Would they have any _particular_ reason to want you dead, Mr. Franczak?"

The man smiled bitterly, almost laughed,

"No more than any other Socialist, Catholic, citizen, or soldier loyal to the exiled government."

Foyle gave a grim half-smile, and then drew a folded paper from his inside pocket, a _précis_ of Franczak's work and movements during the War. He consulted his notes, and asked,

"You were in Szczecin on two occasions last summer. In August, but also two months earlier, in June. You met with someone from the _PSL_. What was the purpose of that meeting?"

Franczak looked uncomfortable as Foyle revealed this knowledge of his covert movements.

"I needed to know if they had any hope of Poland's survival. They did not, but they had to try. They were not naive, they simply had to make the attempt to cooperate with the Soviets, to 'show willing,' as you English say, to the world. For some, it was a tragic sacrifice - martyrdom."

"Why didn't you leave the country at that time?"

"There was still work to be done."

Foyle glanced at his paper,

"In July you joined a military operation of the _DSZ_ - the _Delagatur_a, you went to Wyrzysk, and helped to capture an _NKVD_ prison. An operation that liberated forty-three political prisoners."

"Yes."

"In this mission you shot and killed two_ UB_ agents and two Red Army guards."

"Yes." He paused, then added, "An act of war, Mr. Foyle."

"I agree."

Franczak, surprised, met his eyes steadily for some moments. Foyle continued,

"You then returned to Szczecin, and made contact again with the _PSL_. Were you looking for someone in particular, someone you had expected to find at the prison?"

"No." He shook his head, then admitted, "Friends."

"Could it have been Ryszard Bredel?"

Danuta Bredel stifled a gasp, covering her mouth with a hand, and said to Franczak,

"This is not safe."

He hurriedly replied to her, confidently,

"It's all right. He won't know." Fr. Borynski did not translate their private remarks.

Foyle calmly continued,

"You were friends at university, the three of you," he smiled at Mrs. Bredel, then turned back to Franczak,

"...weren't you?"

"Yes. A lifetime ago."

"And... after all the universities were closed by the Nazis in '39, you and Ryszard joined the Underground Army. Early in the War, after several operations together in the Warsaw region, you were separated into different units. Ryszard was captured by the Germans in November '43 and transported to a labour camp in Szczecin. You continued to fight and to send vital intelligence through _AK_ Couriers. By the time you reached Szczecin, in June, all the camps had been liberated by the Red Army."

"It is true I looked for my friend, Ryszard, Danuta's husband."

"You found him in June."

Franczak hesitated, then admitted,

"Yes. I barely recognized him. Starved, beaten," he looked at Danuta. "But still with fire in his eyes. He told me he would rejoin the Army, to fight the Soviets now. He was so weak, I told him to rest, regain his strength. But he wanted to fight."

"You brought him something, from Lublin, didn't you?"

"No."

Foyle gave him a look of disappointment. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he consulted his notes,

"In February of '44, your intelligence report from Lublin, via _AK_ Courier, includes the first mention of an item, a parcel, something referred to by the code word, _Perła_ - Pearl."

Franczak's expression was defiant, stubborn; he remained silent. Danuta, visibly breathing deeply in her anxiety, had turned her eyes to Mrs. Szelest.

"Certain of your later reports, under your _nom de guerre_, '_Wilk_,' from Ponitowa, Krasnik, Otwock, Ruchocice, also mention '_perła_.' Then in June, at Szczecin you report, amongst a great deal of other intelligence, '_Perła_ delivered.' ...I believe you delivered '_perła_' to Ryszard Bredel."

Franczak looked him in the face,

"It was just that - a pearl. A relative of his, an elderly lady in Lublin, wanted it given to him if I should ever find him. It was valuable, he could use it as currency, a bribe, to help him out of a difficulty, and it was easily carried. It was a little late, but he got it."

Foyle compressed his lips, disbelieving. Reluctantly, he looked over the documents lying before him on the table, and turned to Franczak's brother-in-law,

"Mr. Szelest, you and your wife have lived here in London since 1933?"

The man hesitated, surprised to have been spoken to. He replied in English,

"Yes, that is correct."

Fr. Borynski translated for the others, as Foyle asked,

"You were a university lecturer in Slavonic Studies, but since '41 have worked for the Government-in-exile, in the Department of Military Communications." He touched a forefinger to the relevant identification documents on the table.

"Yes."

"And, as such, you received intelligence from _AK_ and other Couriers of the Resistance. You were aware of Mr. Franczak's progress across the country from Lublin to Szczecin."

Szelest looked to Franczak for agreement, then replied,

"Well, yes. I was."

Foyle nodded, and turned next to Mrs. Bredel.

"You came to Oxford as a PhD candidate in '38, intending to stay one year, but when War was declared, you were unable to return home. You have lived here, with Mr. and Mrs. Szelest, all this time?"

Fr. Borynski translated. The woman answered in English, but was clearly frightened,

"Yes. It was the _Polish Students' Society_ that brought us together."

Foyle smiled gently at her again in an attempt to reassure her,

"It must have been a comfort to you, Mrs. Bredel, during the War, to receive _some news_ of your husband and your friend, through Mr. Szelest."

She only nodded in response, her eyes filling with tears. He asked softly,

"Where is your husband now?"

Franczak answered,

"We don't know."

He looked intensely at Danuta Bredel, and then the words poured out,

"When he regained some strength, in May, Ryszard began talking with the _DSZ_ to learn how he could help. I found him in June. Some weeks later I heard he had been arrested by the _UB_ and taken to the prison in Wyrzysk, but when we captured it in July, he was not there. I looked through the records of prisoners and he _was_ on their list. I asked the prisoners we had freed, and they told me he had been taken away the day before, but they knew no more than that."

"Izaak Światło says he fled to France. Is that possible?" Foyle asked.

"No. That does not sound like Ryszard. He wanted to fight for Poland."

Mr. Szelest added,

"We have heard nothing of Ryszard since June of '45."

Franczak continued, earnestly,

"I hoped he had escaped the Red Army guards; I looked for him; I asked anyone I could trust; I went back to-." He stopped abruptly, but knew it was too late.

Foyle asked carefully,

"..._Where_ did you 'go back to'?"

Franczak had dropped his head, but again looked up at Foyle and answered,

"Danuta's older brother, Miro, he had been in the labour camp with Ryszard. After the Nazis had gone, they walked out of the camp and found the city was nearly all destroyed. On the outskirts, they found an empty house, still standing, and stayed there. Miro was stronger and he went out to search for food for them. He was the one who saw the Red Army enter the city in April."

Franczak ran a hand over his forehead,

"When Ryszard went missing, I went back to that house, to ask Miro if he knew - if he had heard - anything of Ryszard. But... he was gone, too." He glanced at Danuta.

"What is his full name?"

"Miroslaw Mazur. '_Wujek_ (Uncle) Miro.'" Franczak half-smiled.

Foyle nodded, hesitated, and asked, puzzled,

"..._You_ called him 'Uncle'?"

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Just at that moment there was a slight noise in the closed room beside the kitchen. The door opened an inch, two inches, and a small face looked out. Danuta Bredel, agonized, hissed sharply, in Polish,

"Go back! Close the door!"

But Stanislaw Franczak shook his head, then turned, smiled at the girl, and held out his hand,

"Come here, 'Gosia', it's all right."

The girl came forward and stood by Franczak's chair. She was about fourteen, small and slim, but strong-looking. Her eyes were dark and intense, but her colouring was fair and blond. Franczak spoke,

"This is Danuta's daughter, Małgorzata."

Foyle noticed the girl did not go to her mother, but stayed close to this family friend.

He smiled at the young girl and said simply,

"_Halo_."

"_Halo_." She replied, and sat on the arm of Franczak's chair, leaning against him. She studied Foyle's face for a long moment, and whispered something in Franczak's ear.

He glanced at Foyle, and nodded to her, "Yes, ...I think so."

She looked down at the documents displayed on the table, whispered to him again, and he frowned.

Foyle heard him ask her in Polish, gently,

"Why... do you want to do this? I don't understand, 'Gosia.'"

She smiled at him, rose to walk back into the small room she had come from, and the sounds of scuffling under the bed could be heard. The family all looked at each other, perplexed.

In that moment, Sam, her face alight with an idea, took the opportunity to lean over Foyle's shoulder, and whispered a message to him.

He half-turned to her, and a look of astonishment - then a smile of understanding - dawned across his face.

Małgorzata emerged carrying a toy. It had once been a small stuffed bear, but now was so worn, torn and dirty, that it had no appeal at all.

Foyle asked her, kindly,

"_Co tam masz, - 'Perła'_? (What do you have, Pearl?)"

At the last word, Franczak looked up sharply at Foyle and Sam.

'Gosia' smiled at him, nodded to acknowledge her _nom de guerre_ - then knelt at the low table and laid the toy bear down upon it. She had a small pocket knife, and began cutting the crude stitches that held its front together. From out of the bear's stuffing she pulled some folded papers, and laid them out carefully on the table for Foyle to see. Then she spoke.

"These are Uncle Miro's papers. He didn't need them any more. He made new ones. When Tata was out of the house, Uncle Miro sewed these into the bottom of an old valise he found. I took them, because on the day after Tata left me to fight the Red Army, I saw Uncle Miro go into the building where the Russian soldiers talk to the men in plain clothes. I had no proof that he had betrayed us, but I thought it seemed he had made his choice. So I kept these papers, and after Uncle Miro left with his valise, I waited. After a week, Uncle Stasio came back for me. Then we went on the boat."

Fr. Borynski translated to English, no one having noticed that Foyle's last remark had been in the other language. The priest, Foyle, Sam, and the whole family were watching the girl with solemn attention. The three women had tears in their eyes.

When she had finished speaking, Foyle moved forward on his chair to examine the papers, all identification documents for Miroslaw Mazur. Carefully he lifted a small photograph, inexpertly cut around the edges. He studied the portrait, the embossed stamp across the front, and then turned it over to see a name written on the back.

He handed the photograph across to Franczak,

"This... _was_... Izaak Światło."

Franczak frowned at the photograph,

"Then, the man who has asked you to find me is, in fact, Miroslaw Mazur, who has assumed this man's identity. He has joined the Communists."

"It would seem so. And he would expect, in finding you, to also find Małgorzata, and the papers she took from him."

"Has he only _now_ discovered them missing, or guessed who took them?"

"I would... suppose that... he has only _now_ had reason to _need_ them. Someone or something from the past of the real Izaak Światło has threatened his new identity. He is, perhaps, in danger of being discovered as an impostor, and wishes to get out of the country, as himself."

"Ryszard and Miroslaw, they both told me there were many Communists in the labour camp with them, as well as ordinary Poles, Czechs, Ukrainians, Jews... And when the Nazis fled, they had not destroyed all the papers and belongings taken from the prisoners. Miro must have found the papers of this Communist, Izaak Światło, in the camp."

He nodded, then Foyle returned his attention to Małgorzata. He gestured to her pocket knife, she handed it to him to examine, and then he returned it to her with a smile.

Foyle straightened in his chair,

"Mr. Franczak, in light of what Małgorzata has revealed to us, I will ask you and your friends to make the decision as to how we will proceed, if at all. Do you wish to help Miroslav Mazur?"

Franczak asked,

"Is it possible, Mr. Foyle, to use these papers as a trade, for information on the fate of Ryszard?"

"Yes, I think they could be very helpful."

He nodded and looked to Danuta, and she turned to her daughter,

"Małgorzata, what do you say? I have not seen my brother for eight years; he was a prisoner of the Nazis; this perhaps has changed him from the man I used to know. Was Miro kind to you? Did he try to help you?"

The young woman considered for a few moments,

"He was kind at first. When Stasio brought me to the house where Tata and Miro were, he found food for us and helped to keep us safe. I did not like it when he left me alone; I was very angry... But he did leave some food and clean water, ...and I think he was more frightened than we were."

Danuta wiped the tears from her face,

"As frightened as I was, here, not knowing how you were, 'Gosia.' Not knowing if you and your grandparents in Lublin were safe, or starving, or..."

Małgorzata hesitated, then went to her mother and put her arms around her to comfort her.

The others looked relieved to see this sign of affection between them.

Mrs. Szelest spoke,

"Mr. Foyle, Mrs. Wainwright, will you share our table, will you stay to supper with us?"

"_Dziękuję bardzo, Pani_ Szelest, but we've imposed upon your hospitality too long. And I think Małgorzata has much more to tell you about her work with _Szare Szeregi_ (the Grey Ranks), and with Mr. Franczak in _Armia Krajowa_."

"Then, Mrs. Wainwright, will you allow me to offer you both something to bring home? Please wait a moment." And she went into the kitchen.

Foyle stood and shook hands with the other adults, then turned to Małgorzata, and said in Polish,

"When my son was your age he was also a Scout, but he never had to fight for his country at twelve and thirteen, as you have. Did you tell your father what you had done?"

She looked up at him with a small smile, but shook her head,

"I didn't want him to worry."

Foyle nodded and said,

"He'd be very proud. Will you recite the Oath for us, _Perła_?"

Małgorzata at once stood to attention, and as she began, Franczak stood with her, but he was too overcome with emotion to speak.

"_Mam szczerą wolę całym życiem pełnić służbę Bogu i Polsce, nieść chętną pomoc bliźnim i być posłusznym Prawu Harcerskiemu._

(It is my sincere wish to serve God and Poland with the whole of my life, to carry my willing help to others, and to obey the Scout and Guide Law.)"

Foyle, very moved, grasped her small hand in his, nodded, and looked her in the eyes to show his respect.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Outside in the evening air, walking down the street to the car, Foyle gave a cursory look around for the Soviet agent of earlier in the day. Sam carried the briefcase and a net bag containing a generous quantity of Polish sausage wrapped in paper.

Foyle was pensive, and remarked,

"Well, now I understand his travel to Otwock, to contact the friends of 'Jolanta,' and to Ruchocice."

"Sir?"

"'Jolanta' is the _nom de guerre_ of a woman named Irena Sendler, a nurse, who made it her mission to rescue children from the Nazis in Warsaw. We're only now learning of how many she saved and got safely out of Poland. Franczak no doubt hoped she and her friends could find a way to get Małgorzata to her mother in London."

"Oh, yes, I see. And the other place?"

"Ruchocice was the location of an orphanage that tried to protect children who had been kidnapped by the Nazis, children like Małgorzata - blond, fair, who looked Aryan. These children had been stolen from their families in Poland, the Ukraine - all the invaded countries - and selected for 'Germanisation.' They were to be made into German children, with their true identities erased."

"That's dreadful. Poor 'Gosia.' What must she have gone through? Taken from her grandparents, traveling across the country for almost two years, fighting against Nazis and Soviets in the Underground Army. It's unimaginable, isn't it, sir."

Foyle shook his head in agreement. As they approached the car, he asked,

"Sam, would you mind driving?"

"Not at all."

She looked across the car roof at him, and frowned with concern to see the exhaustion, and something else, in his face.

Sitting together, in their old wartime positions, he set his hat on the seat between them, and as she started the motor, Sam watched him lay his head wearily against the seatback and close his eyes.

"That was a difficult interview, sir."

"It was. It's... not pleasant trying to drag information from people who, though you may have complete sympathy with, have no reason to be forthcoming - or to trust you."

He rested his fingers over his brow as Sam pulled the car out into the traffic lane and they got underway. Still with eyes closed, but with a smile, he asked,

"How is it you happen to know that the meaning of the name Małgorzata, or Margaret, is 'pearl?'"

Sam glanced at him,

"Well, I've been thinking of names for boys and girls, ...you know, in case we need to choose one, and I've been looking up their origins and meanings, to help us decide."

Foyle opened his eyes and turned to smile fondly at her.

He picked up his hat and placed it on his head, tilted low over his brow.

"Remarkable timing..." he murmured, then his voice and his smile faded.

Some time later, as she drove in silence through the dim lamplit streets of London, Sam heard a sigh and glanced over at her boss. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw the gleam of a tear track on his cheek, and wondered just how deeply he had been affected by the family's story.

* * *

Epilogue

When Sam arrived at work the next morning, she was just in time to hear the tail end of a rather heated exchange between Mr. Foyle, inside his office, and Sir Alec Meyerson, the new head of MI-5, who was standing in her boss's doorway.

"What on earth were you doing, Foyle, meeting with the former Ambassador at Eaton Square? These people have no official status whatsoever!"

"Then it shouldn't matter - _whatsoever_ - that I've met with them."

"I've a mind to have your investigative methods vetted before you leave the building."

"I'll remind you, Sir Alec, that I didn't want this job, and I'm only still here because you seem to need my help."

"How is it helping us to spend two days tracking down the lost relation of-."

Foyle cut him off,

"- However, I'll be happy to leave at any time, provided you're not about to interfere with my Police pension, as has been darkly hinted at by Valentine on more than one occasion."

Meyerson was taken aback,

"We don't operate that way, Foyle. Arthur was only joking, surely-."

"It's not a laughing matter."

Just then Sam and Charlotte, and a few of the other women of the research department who were now listening in, saw Arthur Valentine himself stroll purposefully towards Foyle's office, and self-consciously usher Meyerson in behind the door as he closed it.

A half-hour later the door opened, but before anyone emerged, Sam could hear Foyle's voice, in a tone of marked reasonableness, suggest,

"...The information has been collected, but it's very difficult to access. Seems to me, Arthur, that we lack a central coordination department. We need a team of librarians - to receive, organise, catalogue and cross-reference. Otherwise, much of the intelligence gathered, usually under life-threatening conditions, will have been a wasted effort."

Meyerson assented,

"That's a very good idea, Foyle. Arthur, see to it, will you? Recruit some data managers, librarians, archivists. What's the point of stockpiling intelligence if we can't get our hands on it when it's needed? ...Wasn't difficult in the SOE, as I recall."

Foyle saw his two colleagues off, then caught Sam's eye and signaled her over with a tilt of his head. Inside his office, he almost chuckled as he scratched his temple,

"That went better than expected." He said with a sly half-smile.

"Meyerson's given me free rein to send an experienced MI-6 agent to negotiate with 'Światło.' If all goes well, we should have information on Ryszard Bredel within the week. And perhaps have Miroslaw Mazur in a Resettlement Camp shortly after that."

"Excellent, sir, and will you -."

She was stopped by a commotion in the hallway. Sam stepped out to see Sir Alec returning, somewhat flustered, trying to keep ahead of the man he was leading.

"...Just here, General, this door..."

Behind him loomed an astonishing figure, dark eyes flashing, in a long black leather trench-coat, with an angular greying beard set off in a dramatic style by his forceful jaw. His gargantuan stride was hardly slowed by his limp, which he supported swinging a stout stick in his left hand.

"Krzysztof!" He shouted in a deep baritone, before reaching the indicated office.

Sam glanced in to see Foyle's eyes widen, and his mouth fall open in some alarm, just before she jumped out of the way.

The great man paused as he filled the doorway,

"Krzysztof! My dear friend! You did not let me know you were in London!"

As the door swung to, Sam and Sir Alec, and most of the research staff down the hall, heard the General ask,

"Did you _bayonet_ any Germans, in this war, my friend? No? Well, you got the one that counted. How are you, Krzysztof?"

The End


End file.
